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"I'm not afraid of that, Grandmere," I said with such certainty that she paused to gaze at me.

"You've been a good girl, haven't you, Ruby?"

"Oh, yes, Grandmere."

"Don't ever forget what happened to your mother," she admonished.

For a while I feared Grandmere Catherine would hold this cloud of dread over the house up until and through our dinner, but despite her claim that we weren't having any-thing special, few things pleased Grandmere Catherine as much as cooking for someone she knew would appreciate it. She set out to make one of her best Cajun dishes: jambalaya. While I helped with that, Grandmere made a custard pie.

"Was my mother a good cook, too,

Grandmere?" I asked her.

"Oh, yes," she said, smiling at the memories. "No one picked up recipes as quickly and as well as your mother did. She was cooking gumbo before she was nine years old, and by the time she was twelve, no one could clear out the icebox and make as good a jambalaya.

"When your grandpere Jack was still something of a human being," she continued, "he would take Gabrielle out and show her all the edible things in the swamp. She learned fast, and you know what they say about us Cajuns," Grandmere added, "we'll eat anything that doesn't eat us first."

She laughed and hummed one of her favorite tunes. On Sundays we usually gave the house a good once-over anyway, but this special Sunday, I went at it with more energy and concern, washing down the windows until every speck of dirt was gone, scrubbing the floors until they shone, and dusting and polishing everything in sight.

"You'd think the king of France was coming here tonight," Grandmere teased. "I'm warning you, Ruby, don't let that boy expect more of you than there is."

"I won't, Grandmere," I said, but in my secret putaway heart, I hoped that Paul would be very impressed and brag about us to his parents so much they would drop any opposition they might have to his making me his girlfriend.

By late afternoon, our little home nearly sparkled and was filled with delicious aromas. As the clock ticked closer to six, I grew more and more excited. I hoped that Paul would be early, so I sat outside and waited the last hour with my eyes fixed in the direction he would come. Our table was set and I wore my best dress. Grandmere Catherine had made it herself. It was white with a deep lace hem and a lace panel down the front. The sleeves were soft bells of lace that came to my elbows. I wore a blue sash around my waist.

"I'm glad I let out that bodice some," she said when she saw me. "The way your bosom's

blossoming. Turn around," she said, and smoothed out the back of the skirt. "I must say, you're turning out to be a real belle, Ruby. Even more beautiful than your mother was at your age."

"I hope I'm as pretty as you are at your age, Grandmere," I replied. She shook her head and smiled.

"Go on now. I'm enough to scare a marsh hawk to death," she said, and laughed, but for the first time, I got Grandmere Catherine to tell me about some of her old boyfriends and some of the fais dodos she had attended when she was my age.

When the clock struck six, I lifted my eyes in anticipation, expecting Paul's motor scooter to rumble moments later. But it didn't and the road remained quiet and still. After a little while Grandmere came to the door and peered out herself. She gazed sadly at me and then returned to the kitchen to do some final things. My heart began to pound. The breeze became more of a wind; all of the trees waving their branches. Where was he? At about seven, I became very concerned and when Grandmere Catherine appeared in the doorway again, she wore a look of fatal acceptance on her face.

"It's not like him to be late," I said. "I hope nothing has happened to him."

Grandmere Catherine didn't reply; she didn't have to. Her eyes said it all.

"You'd better come in and sit down, Ruby. We made the food and want to enjoy it anyway."

"He's coming, Grandmere. I'm sure he's coming. Something unexpected must have happened," I cried. "Let me wait just a little while longer," I pleaded. She retreated, but at seven-fifteen she came to the door again.

"We can't wait any longer," she declared.

Dejected, all my appetite gone anyway, I rose and went inside. Grandmere Catherine said nothing. She served the meal and sat down.

"This came out as good as it ever has," she declared. Then leaning toward me, she added, "even if I have to say so myself."

"Oh, it's wonderful, Grandmere. I'm just. . . worried about him."

"Well, worry about him on a full stomach," she ordered. I forced myself to eat, and, despite my disappointment, even enjoyed Grandmere Catherine's custard pie. I helped her clean up and then I went back outside and sat on the galerie, waiting and watching and wondering what had happened to ruin what would have been a wonderful evening. Almost an hour later, I heard Paul's motor scooter and saw him coming down the road as fast as he could. He pulled up and dropped his scooter roughly to run up to the house.

"What happened to you?" I cried, standing.

"Oh, Ruby, I'm sorry. My parents . . . they forbad me to come. My father ordered me to my room when I refused to have dinner with them. Finally, I decided to climb out the window and come here anyway. I must apologize to your grandmother.

I sank to the steps of the galerie.